


Denial

by scribblemoose



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-07
Updated: 2003-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose





	Denial

Yohji rested his chin on Aya's shoulder; felt the hard ridge of Aya's shoulder blade pressing into his chest; smelt the fresh, strawberry scent of his shampoo.

He hadn't expected it to feel like this.

"Great! Just like that... one hand on his shoulder, great, keep with the attitude, Red... great. Perfect. Love it."

Yohji gave the camera his best, most seductive, always-a-winner look. He knew they must look damn hot together, which, after all, was the point.

He just hadn't expected it to _feel_ like this.

"One more... lean back into him a bit more, Red, just a bit... that's better... and another... great..."

The glint of Aya's earring just caught Yohji's eye; he had to fight to stop himself taking it in his teeth and giving it a tug.

"Great. Thanks, boys. That's it for today, we'll do the car shots tomorrow."

This may not have been the most dangerous mission Weiss had ever engaged in, but it was certainly, as far as Yohji was concerned, one of the most disconcerting.

He hadn't expected it to be so difficult. When Manx and Birman had explained it to them, it appeared perfectly straightforward. There was an apparently respectable modelling agency in Tokyo that had been known to Kritiker for some time, particularly for his low-level involvement in prostitution and money-laundering. Nasty, illegal, but not really enough of a threat to involve Weiss. Until now. Crashers had just uncovered new information to suggest that things were more sinister than they had seemed. From the evidence Kritiker had pieced together, the Yamanaka Modelling Agency owed a great deal of money to their backers. And eight of their models had either gone missing themselves, or had close friends or relatives disappear over the past six months.

All men, or boys. Good looking ones, at that.

It should have been easy for someone from Crashers to infiltrate the organisation and complete the reconnaissance mission, but, to Yohji's initial delight, none of them could get themselves on the Agency's books. Neither could Ken, as it happened, and Omi was too young even to apply.

Aya and Yohji were both signed up on sight.

It had seemed a good mission, in the beginning. It was an investigation, and Yohji liked to flex his detective muscles when he got the chance. He'd done modelling before, and quite liked it; more to the point, Aya hadn't, and was bound to hate it. Not that Yohji would wish discomfort on his team-mate, but it would be a relief to go on a mission where Aya couldn't find fault with his every move.

Then there was the receptionist at the agency, a pretty little thing called Kyoko, who was always sucking her pencil whenever he happened to be looking at her, crossing and re-crossing her legs and winking at him. The first time they'd collected a client file, she'd made sure to include her home phone number just in case they needed anything out of work hours. By the end of the first week, Kyoko was sucking more than just her pencil, and Yohji was positively enjoying himself.

Then they were sent to a photographer in Osaka, to do a calendar shoot. The agency played him up a good deal: they described him as an artist, adding almost casually that he specialised in the erotic. Yohji had expected him to find some middle aged balding guy operating out of a seedy office; to his surprise, though, Hiroshi was young and attractive, with long, glossy black hair that he wore in sleek pony tail, a well defined body just the right side of skinny, and soft blue eyes. He was in the category that Yohji usually described as 'competition', although judging by the nature of Hiroshi's work, Yohji guessed that the photographer's sexual orientation exempted him. He operated out of a clean, spacious studio that he hired by the hour, and when he first saw Yohji and Aya, his face lit up with excitement, as if he'd just won a particularly lucrative lottery.

Right from the start they'd got a lot of work as a pair, which Yohji found surprising, even though he had to admit when he saw the photos that there was a certain aesthetic sense to it. Whether because whatever crazy kind of bond there was between assassins came through on camera, or just because their looks kind of complimented each other, he wasn't sure. But even he could see they looked good together.

Which is how Yohji came to be standing behind Aya, leaning on his shoulder, and feeling things he had no right to feel.

It felt good. Not just all-men-together, comradely good. Really good. Stiff dick and short-of-breath good.

It shouldn't feel good. Not with a man. Not with _Aya_.

"Have you considered taking things further?"

Yohji's confused mind was wrenched back to the present; he gaped at Hiroshi, and for one awful moment it occurred to him that perhaps he'd been thinking out loud.

"That depends," came Aya's rich baritone. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do some work on the side for the gay market." Hiroshi shook a couple of cigarettes out of his pack, and offered one to Yohji, who gratefully accepted it, wishing his hands weren't shaking so damn much. "Softcore, mostly."

"Define softcore," said Aya. Yohji blinked at him, vaguely aware that he should be in charge of this conversation, but not, at that moment, able to think of a single thing to say.

"Skin. Soft focus. Tasteful. Kissing. Maybe hard-ons, the odd money shot if you're up for it. Nothing tacky. No fucking or sucking. Unless..."

"No," said Yohji, a little louder than he'd intended. "We don't, that is-"

"We'll think it over," Aya interrupted. "Get back to you. Truth is, we have some other offers."

Yohji took a desperate drag of his cigarette, and tried to remind himself that this was a mission. This was what he and Aya had signed up for.

"Great," said Hiroshi. "I'll send some of my work over to you at the hotel, you can look it over and see what you think. I wouldn't offer it to just anyone, but the money's good, and you said you were short of cash. It would mean a longer stay, though. Maybe another two weeks? We could start tomorrow, if-"

"Oh, that's a shame," said Yohji. "We have to be back in Tokyo for... this thing. With our brother. My brother. His... a friend."

"It's not important," said Aya. "We'll think over your offer, Hiroshi. Thank you."

"Yes," said Yohji, weakly.

"Great," said Hiroshi, with a grin. "I'll wait to hear from you. Thanks for coming out all this way for this job, by the way. I didn't know you had family back in Tokyo."

"We don't," said Aya. "Just a couple of guys we share an apartment with. No-one else."

"That's right," Yohji added, finally getting a grip. "No-one. And Aya's right, nothing important to get back to."

"Fine," said Hiroshi, his grin just a little bit broader. "Let me know when you've made up your minds."

* * * * * * *

By the time they'd got back to the hotel, Yohji had pretty much convinced himself it was a fluke. After all, dicks reacted to the strangest things, sometimes to nothing at all. It was probably association; usually when he got that close to someone it was a girl, and fun was bound to follow. That sounded likely. Nothing to do with Aya at all.

If anyone was going to find this mission difficult, it should be Aya. Aya, who was about as far from as an exhibitionist as you could get, had apparently chosen a life of total celibacy and was quite possibly a virgin. Yohji was at home in his own skin, and loved to be the centre of attention. This should be easy for him.

It was just an accident. An odd moment. Nothing more.

Aya waited until they were in their room before he unleashed his fury.

"What the Hell are you playing at, Kudoh? I thought you were going to fuck things up for good!"

"No sense in being too eager, Aya. It would have looked suspicious if we'd both gone for it like a shot."

Aya's fury waned a little, the anger in his vivid purple eyes fading to disgruntlement and confusion.

_Well done, Kudoh_, thought Yohji. _Nice recovery._

"You nearly overdid it. He was all ready to give up on us."

"Nah," said Yohji. "We're too good. He could make a fortune out of us." He happened to think that was true, in fact. Even in his confused state, he'd noticed the barely-contained eagerness behind Hiroshi's offer.

"Hn. Well."

"Did you think I was welching on the deal, Aya? I'm up for this mission just as much as you are. And this is the first proper lead we've had."

Omi had called that morning to say that all the missing models had taken at least one assignment with Hiroshi shortly before they disappeared. And always out of Tokyo. More than half in Osaka.

"So long as you're sure," Aya grumbled, and headed for the bathroom.

Yohji snuck out onto the balcony while Aya showered. This was his little patch of territory in their temporary home: Aya wouldn't tolerate smoking in their shared bedroom, and although the view was of a less than inspiring urban sprawl, even the hard lines and concrete took on a warm glow under the setting sun. Yohji drank beer and smoked, and let the day drift away in a haze of orange and gold.

It seemed ridiculous, now, that he could have thought, even for an instant, that he might actually be attracted to Aya. They'd lived and worked together for years, fought side by side, seen the best and the worst of each other more than once. Aya knew what was in Yohji's nightmares, and Yohji knew that not a day went by that Aya didn't send flowers to his sister in England. There had been plenty of opportunities for any feelings to come into the open. Times when one or other of them had looked sure to die, or when they'd felt close; not that it was easy to get close to Aya, but there had been times... a few evenings, after a bottle of something, when it had just been the two of them in the Koneko and Yohji had managed to persuade Aya to talk about his childhood, his life as Ran. More often, Aya had listened, while Yohji had talked, about Asuka, or his own childhood.

If anything had been going to happen between them, surely that's when it would have happened.

It was much more likely just his body playing tricks on his mind, he decided, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. Revenge for the lack of so much as a wank since they arrived in Osaka a week ago. Kritiker's fault for booking them a shared room. Maybe he should take a shower himself, and-

He suddenly wondered if that's what Aya was doing right now.

The thought shot like lightning straight to his groin, and all he could do was imagine Aya, naked under the spray and steam, eyes closed, hand creeping slowly down his chest and belly towards his-

"Yohji? Are you alright?"

Yohji's eyes shot open to find Aya looking at him, shirtless, top button of his jeans undone, head on one side as he towelled his hair.

"Yohji?"

"I..." Yohji struggled to think. Not to imagine, or feel. Just to think.

"It's dark out there."

"Yes," Yohji agreed.

"You coming in? It's getting cold with the door open like that."

Yohji could tell. Aya's nipples were stiff, surrounded by little goosebumps spreading over his pale chest. Tiny nipples, compared to a woman's, but just as pink and hard. Yohji wondered what they tasted like.

_What?!_

"Yohji? In or out?"

Yohji stared blankly at him for a moment, before he found his voice. "In. I'm coming in. Just give me a minute to finish this, okay?" He waved the as yet unlit cigarette in his hand.

Aya shrugged and went back inside.

* * * * * * *

By the time he'd smoked his cigarette down to the filter, Yohji had rallied a little. If nothing else, the evening chill served to help clear his head, and give his body something to worry about other than the image of a fresh-from-the-shower Aya.

Whatever this might be that he was feeling, it was clearly best ignored. Yohji had a whole raft of strategies to help him ignore things he didn't want to think about, and Osaka was full of bars just waiting to help put them into practice. Loins girded with the resolve to go out and drink until he couldn't remember his own name, much less the smell of Aya's hair, Yohji stepped back into their room and closed the balcony doors behind him.

"I ordered room service," Aya said. "We can discuss the mission while we eat."

"Oh." Yohji tried to quell rising panic as his plans fell to dust. "I was thinking of going for a drink."

"You'll look like shit tomorrow if you do," Aya pointed out. "You can't afford to look like shit right now."

"But-"

"For fuck's sake, Yohji. Think of the mission. This is important. You know how bad you look when you've been drinking, and we start early in the morning."

"All right, Mr Conscience. Fuck, I wasn't planning a bender, just a little-"

Aya silenced him with a look. And it occurred to Yohji, as he sat meekly on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers through his hair, that maybe there was more to Aya's going off the deep end like that than met the eye. It could just be that he wasn't the only one who felt less than comfortable about taking the mission to the next level. Especially considering how Aya detested intimacy of any kind. The more he thought about it, the more sense that made.

At least Aya didn't argue when Yohji called room service for a couple of bottles of wine.

"He sent the stuff over," Aya said, dangling a large manila envelope from one hand. "You want to take a look?"

"When we've eaten," said Yohji. "Don't want to lose my appetite."

Aya shrugged. "They're not too bad," he said. "Could be worse."

"Have you rung him yet?"

"No. You're right, we shouldn't seem too keen. I'll call after dinner."

"Fine. Any news from Omi?"

Aya's face darkened, his eyes narrowed. "Yes. They found something on the Internet," he said.

"What kind of thing?" Yohji had a sinking feeling he could guess, judging by his own suspicions and the disgust in Aya's eyes.

"Child porn. One of the missing boys. Omi thinks they're probably holding them captive. Using the older boys to get hold of the younger ones."

"So we were right." _Damn. _

"He's only ten, Yohji."

Yohji instinctively reached for his cigarettes. _Ten years old. Bastards. Fuck._

He paused with the crumpled pack in his hands, smoothing over the embossed crest and brand name with his thumb. "Hiroshi?"

"We don't know. He's the only linking factor so far, but... Omi wants us to set him up."

"What?!"

"He can pass for fourteen, maybe younger. If we can get Hiroshi to trust us, we could... recommend him."

"Fuck, Aya-"

"This is Omi, remember? He can handle himself. Nothing's going to happen to him. Besides, we've got to get Hiroshi to trust us first. This has got to be convincing."

Yohji stared at him. It was gradually dawning on him just what that could mean, and he wondered for a moment whether he could go through with it.

Of course he could. He'd killed men in cold blood for less. He could do this. He had to do this.

"I know we talked about it before, but... you're sure? There's no going back. If you don't think you can handle it, I could maybe talk Hiroshi into letting Ken..."

"No! No, shit, Aya, I signed up for this. It's fine. It's just a mission."

Besides, the idea of Ken and Aya posing for Hiroshi in anything short of full body armour gave Yohji a worryingly sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Good."

Not that he was jealous, or anything. He was just straight, and although he respected everyone's right to get their fun wherever they found it, it was only natural that for someone who only liked girls, the thought of two men going at it would be... disturbing.

Yohji shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his jeans suddenly very tight. Damn but he needed to find some privacy soon, or-

There was a knock on the door. Room service.

After a meal of particularly good Kitsune-Udon, and more than half a bottle of wine, Yohji finally felt relaxed enough to look in the envelope. He refilled his glass, and Aya's, and settled back on his bed, back against the headboard. He shook the contents of the envelope into his lap. A handful of stills, a couple of magazines, and a video.

He picked the video up and tried to read the title, but it was in English, and Yohji's English was a little rusty. Or at least, he could make out the words 'boy' and 'adventure'. The rest he guessed even Kritiker hadn't seen fit to include in their training programme.

"Shall I put it on?" said Aya.

"I'm sure that's not necessary," said Yohji, quickly, stuffing it back into the envelope. "I can imagine."

The stills were more palatable; very good, in fact. Tasteful black and white, all texture and skintone. The magazine pictures were a little more explicit, but still well done. Hiroshi's stood out from the others, he seemed to have an eye for the erotic.

Yohji tried to imagine himself and Aya in some of those poses, and immediately wished that he hadn't.

"He's good," Yohji said, struggling to keep his voice level.

"Yes, I thought so."

"I guess if we're going to do this, may as well do it with the best, eh Aya?"

"It doesn't matter." Aya took another sip of wine, holding it in his mouth, savouring it. For someone who didn't drink much, Aya really appreciated good wine, Yohji realised. He liked that idea. It was as if he shared one of Yohji's vices, in an odd sort of way.

"This all looks pretty tame," said Yohji. "Do we need to lay any, um, ground rules or anything, when we call him?"

"You mean how far we're willing to go?"

"I guess. Hm."

Aya's brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. "I suppose we would, if we really hadn't done this before. We are playing it that way, aren't we?"

"I think," said Yohji. "Seems safest. They say you should keep a lie simple. As close to the truth as you can."

"Like the pictures, then. But not the magazines?"

"Yeah. I think we'd say something like that."

"Okay." For the first time, Yohji sensed that Aya was feeling a little awkward about this.

About time, too.

"I'll make the call," said Aya, and pulled out his cell phone.

* * * * * * *

A couple of hours and another bottle or so of wine later, and Yohji was feeling a lot more relaxed. Aya lay on his bed reading, looking up grumpily every now and then when the film Yohji was watching on TV got particularly loud. It was only at the end of the movie, when the hero swept the girl up in his arms for a deep kiss against a backdrop of explosions, that Yohji's thoughts turned back to the mission.

_Tomorrow, I'll have to kiss Aya like that._

_Well_, Yohji tilted his head to one side as the girl was bent slowly back over her lover's arm, _maybe not _quite_ like that_...

Aya made a little grunt of disapproval, and gave the TV a stern glare over the top of his reading glasses.

"I don't know why you watch that crap," he said.

"Passes the time. Nice cars. Nice explosions. Nice girls."

Aya transferred his glare to Yohji. "You only ever think of one thing, don't you, Kudoh?"

"Nah," Yohji said, with a leering grin. "Sometimes I think of two of them at once."

Aya went back to his book with a snort.

Yohji's hand snuck out for his cigarettes and lighter; he took one out and stuck it between his teeth, flipped the cap of his lighter and-

"Outside, Kudoh."

"Yeah, yeah, I was going," Yohji sighed. "Bastard."

Aya turned his page, smoothed down the crease with his index finger. "Try not to catch cold," he said. "And no more wine. We have to do a good job tomorrow, or we won't get asked back."

"Don't worry about me, baby," said Yohji, swinging long legs over the side of the bed. "I've never had any complaints. Although..."

Aya looked up from his book again. "What?"

"Well, I suppose it might be... different." He got up, yawned and stretched.

"What might be different?"

"It's not as if I ever kissed a man before."

His eyes met Aya's, and to Yohji's surprise he saw amusement in the vivid purple.

"I have. Don't worry, Kudoh. I'll take care of you."

"You, wha, you... oh." Yohji stared at Aya in amazement for a moment, then sat back heavily on his bed. "Oh."

Aya's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile.

"You never told me," Yohji said.

"You never asked."

"But..."

"It's not relevant, any way."

"No, it's... hang on a minute. Of course it's fucking relevant!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to have to kiss you and... other things. And if you... that is... um..." Yohji raked his fingers through his hair, and grappled with the confusion that was clouding his thoughts. "Unless it was just one of those things? Or for another mission, or-"

"I'm gay, Yohji."

Yohji stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, and lit it. "Gay?" he said, weakly.

"I meant to tell you. But it doesn't make any difference."

"You meant to tell me? When?! Aya, shit, if, I, what, if..." Yohji lapsed into silence, trying to get his brain working. Aya was gay? A gay celibate virgin? He was about do to porn with a gay celibate virgin who smelt good and had really lickable nipples? What?

"If you're going to smoke, Yohji, let's go outside."

Yohji realised for the first time that he was drawing comforting fumes deep into his lungs, holding a lit cigarette in faintly trembling fingers. Aya crossed to the door to the balcony and held it open for him, followed him as he went outside.

He leaned on the railing, focussing on the streetlights and the distant neon glow of Osaka's nightlife, his mind roiling with confusion.

"Look, Yohji, if you want to change your mind..."

Yohji shook his head, still gazing out at the city, not yet ready to look Aya in the eye. "No. We have to do it. The mission's important. It's just... well, it's a fuck of a shock, Aya."

"I know. I wasn't sure it would come to this, and... well, I'm sorry."

"So... when did you find out? That you're gay?"

"I've always known, really. I didn't do anything about it while my parents were alive, though. Not until Crashers."

"I can't believe you never told us," said Yohji.

There was a pause, and then --

"Omi knows."

"What? _Omi_? How the fuck-"

"It's on my file. Not much gets past Kritiker."

"You mean, when you say Crashers..."

"Knight."

"Oh."

Yohji's head was spinning; he wondered vaguely whether he'd fallen asleep watching the movie and this was all a dream.

"So, do you... is there anyone?"

"No. Not since then. Well, Botan, but... you know. That was different."

Yohji gave a strangled little laugh. "No wonder you weren't interested in Sakura."

"Yohji, I wouldn't have been interested in her even if... that's not even funny."

"I'm sorry, Aya. You've got me a bit wrong footed here. It's a shock, you know?"

"Yes. Alright. I'm sorry."

Yohji didn't know what was unsettling him more, the thought that Aya was gay, or the fact that he'd apologised to him more in the last ten minutes than in the whole three years they'd known each other.

"Just..." Yohji took a long drag on his cigarette, and closed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. When he'd woken this morning, he lived in a safe world, where he was a straight, loveable playboy, and Aya was a straight, celibate virgin. Now he'd found out his best friend was gay, thoroughly deflowered and had slept with half of Kritiker.

Well, maybe not half. But.

And when did Aya become his best friend, anyway?

"It doesn't make any difference," said Aya, flatly.

"Aya... look, can you give me a minute here? It's a bit of a shock, you know? Just give me a minute. Go finish your book."

"But if-"

"Aya. Please." He was alarmed at the wobble in his voice; he couldn't even be sure whether it was anger, hurt or just plain hysteria.

Aya nodded silently, once, and went back inside, sliding the door half shut behind him.

Yohji's head drooped, his eyes shut tight, and tried to think.

* * * * * * *

By the time he went back inside, Aya had turned off the TV, dimmed the lights, and stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, ready for bed. He looked up as Yohji came in, but didn't say anything.

All that Yohji had managed to work out, in the space of four, chain smoked cigarettes, was that he was horny, he didn't know what to make of his feelings, or Aya's confession, and he was nervous as hell about what might happen tomorrow. And underneath all that, the one constant, the one thing he could be certain of was that they were close to finding a bastard who was making himself rich by exploiting and probably murdering children.

"So is there anything I should know?" Yohji asked.

"What?"

"For tomorrow. Seeing as you're the expert."

"You're worried about it," Aya realised.

"Just a little nervous." Yohji tried for a casual shrug. "No sweat. I'll be fine."

Aya looked a bit confused, but he didn't say anything.

"I'll go clean my teeth," said Yohji, and escaped to the bathroom.

He considered taking a shower, or just wanking into the toilet to be done with it, but the water would be cold, and the walls were just a little too thin, Aya's hearing a little to acute, for him to want to risk it. So he took a piss, washed, brushed his teeth, and tried not to think of sex, gay or otherwise, or the mission, or, particularly, how the bathroom still smelt of Aya's shampoo.

He left the bathroom and almost bumped into Aya, who was putting his dirty clothes neatly into the bottom drawer of the dresser. Yohji was so strung out he jumped, banging his elbow on the door handle in the process.

"Fuck. Shit, ow, that hurts." Yohji winced, cradling his elbow in his palm.

"Yohji, what's the matter with you?"

"I just hit my fucking elbow on the-"

"No, I mean... is it because of what I told you?"

Yohji looked at him, wretched. He could see the start of hurt in Aya's eyes, underneath the usual layers of pissed off and determined.

"No, shit, no. Not at all. It's fine, Aya. I'm fine with it. No. It's just... weird. I don't know what to expect. I thought it would be fine, and I don't know... I don't _know_."

"We made rules, Yohji. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I know. It's just... any other mission, we know what's going to happen. There's plans, and maps, and we practise moves and..." Yohji cringed at his own crawling insecurity. More than anything, he wanted this conversation not to be happening.

"You want to practise?"

"What?"

"You'd feel better if we'd practised?"

Yohji hesitated, trying to sort through the fog of panic and alcohol. "Yes," he heard himself say.

"Okay."

Yohji gaped at him.

"We can go through a few things. It's probably a good idea, we need to be convincing."

Of course. Aya was being sensible. Not coming on to him. Not trying to be nice. Just being sensible. Thank fuck for that.

"Right," he said. "So what-"

"Just come and sit on the bed."

His heart thudding in his chest in a way it had no right to, Yohji sat next to Aya on the bed, and slid an arm around his shoulder. It didn't feel strange at all; in fact it felt right. Good. Nice. It was Aya who tensed up, put a hand awkwardly on Yohji's thigh.

Of course, Aya wasn't as good an actor as he was. And it had been a long time since Botan. Maybe people were just people after all.

He cupped Aya's jaw in his palm, tipped his head back, and kissed him, just a little kiss, soft, fleeting, chaste. Then another. Then another, longer this time, and then his tongue fluttered against Aya's lower lip, and Aya's mouth opened a little and let him inside, and then Aya's tongue was sliding against his, and Aya's hands were tangled in his hair, and the breath was catching in his throat, and Aya tasted of toothpaste and cherries, and rich red wine, and he pulled back, panting, catching the tip of Aya's tongue with gentle teeth on the way, nipping briefly before releasing him, eyes fluttering open to catch Aya's intense, purple gaze.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh._

"Thanks," he whispered into the silence that hung heavily between them. He didn't dare think. He didn't want to think.

"Yes," said Aya, softly. "Did that help?"

"Oh yes," said Yohji, squeakily. He cleared his throat a little, and slowly dropped his arm from Aya's shoulder. "It's not so different, really," he lied. "We'll be fine tomorrow."

"Good." Before Yohji could drag his eyes away, he couldn't help but notice the way Aya crossed his legs, and leaned with his arm draped protectively over his groin.

Yohji forced himself to get to his feet, and take the few steps across the room to his own bed.

He heard the rustling of sheets as Aya got into bed, and quickly stripped off his own clothes, down to his boxers.

Aya said goodnight, his voice for all the world as low and steady as if nothing had happened at all, and turned off the light.

* * * * * * *

Yohji awoke the next morning to the sound of the shower running. He was alone in the room: Aya was obviously already up.

He pushed his hair out of his face, rubbed at an itch on his forehead, and yawned. Slowly, the tangle of thoughts in his head straightened out into something like facts. He was in Osaka. He was on a mission. He had to do a softcore porn photoshoot with Aya today. Aya was gay. He had kissed Aya last night.

He was naked, because he'd woken in the middle of the night after a dream about Kyoko and a jar of maple syrup, to find his boxers clinging, wet and cold, to his skin.

That hadn't happened to him since he was thirteen.

He had kissed Aya last night. Aya was gay.

He'd been a complete ass. Aya had told him something really important, and personal, which must have killed him. All he'd got back was gibbering and questions and-

Oh God. He'd kissed Aya last night.

He was hard.

"You're awake, then."

His eyes shot open, and he knew he must look guilty as sin.

"Yes," he said. "'Morning, Aya."

"Breakfast's in a quarter of an hour. You'd better get up."

Yohji dragged himself out of bed, swiftly snagging a towel to hitch around his waist. Aya was dressed already, hair slightly damp, his eartails leaving little darkened patches on his white button-down shirt.

"Don't be late," he said. "I'm going to go and find a newspaper. I'll see you downstairs."

And Aya was gone. Yohji was, at last, alone.

He jerked off in the shower, quickly, making absolutely certain that he thought only of Kyoko. Kyoko, wrapping her expert lips around the root of his cock, looking up at him with kohl-circled eyes, sucking and licking him. Kyoko, who was soft and feminine, and whose kiss he couldn't really remember particularly, but who was always hot and always turned him on.

He came in just a few minutes, so hard it damn near hurt. He leaned with one hand on the tiles, the other coaxing the last few dribbles out of his cock, wincing as the final tremors wracked his body. He wanted to cry. Or scream. Something. He felt hollow, empty.

Was that all it was?

What was he doing?

Why had Aya let him kiss him?

The mission. They were practising. That's all. They were perfectionists. Had to be, in their line of work. It would be like katas, to Aya. Didn't matter if it was just practise, every time he swung his sword he put his soul into it, always perfect. This would be no different.

Yohji wasn't sure whether he found that thought reassuring or disappointing.

He reached for the soap, and started to wash.

* * * * * * *

Hiroshi met them with a warmer-than-usual smile, and set them straight to work on the last few pictures for the calendar. Innocuous, innocent pictures, just him, and Aya, and a car. It took a couple of hours, with the usual delays for lighting, and for Hiroshi to get a jacket for Aya that he liked the look of - he ended up in a dark green linen that looked stunning against his hair - and all the while, Yohji wished someone would just tell him who to kill so he could get it over with and go home.

Finally Hiroshi was content, and sent his assistant home.

Yohji smoked, drank coffee and watched as Hiroshi changed the set in the studio. The car was gone; there was just an old battered sofa, which he covered in crisp, ivory sheets and matching cushions. He spent what felt like an age fiddling with lights and reflectors, and setting up heaters.

For a moment Yohji thought that was an act of consideration, but then it occurred to him that there might be more pragmatic reasons for Hiroshi to keep him and Aya warm.

"You can stay dressed to start with," said Hiroshi. He changed the music; instead of the pump-up techno he'd used for the calendar pictures, suddenly there was jazz, smooth and sensual. "Let's just relax you into it. Go sit down, and take it good and slow."

Yohji wished he wouldn't be so damn nice about everything.

He sat down obediently next to Aya, and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do. He needn't have worried, of course; Hiroshi's voice rang out with direction, moving them closer, draping Yohji's arm around Aya's shoulder, bringing them closer still, looking at each other.

Yohji could see reluctance in Aya's eyes. Sacrifice. Embarrassment. Awkwardness. He didn't want to do this, either.

"That's it, Red, lean in a little closer."

Aya's eyes flared in response to the nickname, obviously hating it. Yohji had to fight not to giggle.

"And closer."

He could feel Aya's breath, see each of his long, soft crimson eyelashes.

"Kiss him, Yohji."

It was awkward at first: Aya turned his head the wrong way and they bumped noses; they were both tense and reluctant. It was how Yohji had expected it to be. Difficult. Unnatural. Wrong. Nothing like last night.

"Come on, boys. Just imagine I'm not here. Just do what you do at home."

Yohji brushed Aya's earring with his nose, and whispered to him. "What? Flower arranging?"

Aya laughed, rich and deep, more nervous than anything. But his body relaxed into Yohji's, his arm slid easily around Yohji's waist, and this time, when Yohji kissed him, it felt right. Better than right. Good. Very good.

He didn't want to stop.

So he didn't.

He nibbled Aya's lower lip, ran the tip of his tongue over it, his fingers resting softly on Aya's collarbone, one eartail brushing over the back of his hand.

Aya's hand settled a little stiffly on his hip; Yohji was suddenly aware of Hiroshi standing next to them.

_This isn't real._ Yohji reminded himself. _This is a mission. A pretence. Not real._

He jumped at the feel of Hiroshi's hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry," said Hiroshi. "Your hair's in the way." Yohji flinched as Hiroshi tucked the errant strands behind his ear. "Just a few more of these to warm up, and we'll get some clothes off."

Yohji closed his eyes, reminding himself why he was doing this, why he couldn't just kill Hiroshi there and then and run; why he was cursed to never be able to do anything _normal_ any more.

"You got another kiss for me, boys?"

Yohji's eyes caught Aya's, looking for a reflection of the sudden panic that was rushing through him. But Aya looked, as ever, calm and detached.

He gave Yohji's hip a little squeeze, and kissed him. So business like and straightforward that Yohji was surprised to feel Aya's tongue slipping inside his mouth to flick against his.

There was no need. Hiroshi's camera wouldn't pick it up. Was that why Aya was doing it? To keep a part of this for themselves?

_Baka. Aya doesn't think that way._

He tried to shut out the frenzied clicking of the camera, the heat of the lights, and lose himself in Aya's kiss. However disturbing the pleasure he was finding there might be, it was less disturbing than the thought of what they were actually doing.

Yohji was good at blocking things out. He almost managed it for a while.

"Great, let's get you naked."

Almost.

It would have been so much easier if he'd been with a girl. Why did it have to be a gay porn operation? If it had been regular porn... if it was, say, Manx here with him, he'd know what to do. He'd be helping her take off her jacket, reassuring her, taking care of her. Not hesitating like an idiot, watching Aya as he carefully folded his clothes and draped them over a nearby chair.

"Hurry up, Yohji," said Hiroshi. "Haven't got all day."

Yohji tried to pull himself together, stumbled to his feet and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Hold it," said Hiroshi. "I've got an idea. Aya, come help him out, will you?"

"What?" Aya was down to his boxers; Yohji noticed a shiver run across his shoulders, and wondered if it was just from the chill of the studio.

"Come here and help undress him. Take your shirt off, Kudoh, and Red..." Hiroshi took a quick puff on his cigarette, considering, while Yohji tugged his shirt off his arms and tossed it behind the sofa. "yeah, that's it... I know. On your knees, Red."

Yohji saw the moment's hesitation, the flicker of anger cross Aya's face. It was unthinkable, that Fujimaya Aya would...

Then he was there, on his knees in front of him, looking up, lips slightly parted, eyes bright and defiant. Face just inches from Yohji's groin, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

On his knees.

"Lose the underwear, Red."

Naked. On his knees. Looking up at him, like a hooker.

Yohji cringed inside: this was so wrong. To see Aya surrender his dignity and pride so easily, to shuck it off with his clothes and do this, for some stupid mission. But even as Yohji hated Hiroshi, hated Kritiker, and hated himself for being any part of this, his cock was stirring, hardening in the tight confines of his pants. Responding directly to the promise of Aya's lips and mouth and tongue.

He rested one trembling hand on Aya's shoulders and waited.

"Undress him, Red... Great.... Slowly... Great..." Aya fumbled with the snap of his pants, searched for the tab of the zip. "Take your time over it. That's it... great... like that..."

Any minute now, Aya would find out that he was hard. Shamefully, traitorously hard.

"Keep going, Red... damn but you guys are hot together..."

Aya unzipped Yohji's trousers and eased them over the curve of his butt and down his legs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Yohji's boxers, still looking up at his face.

"Just hold it there a minute, that's great... okay, and on..."

Yohji fought to keep standing there as Aya pulled the soft cotton off him, slowly and a little awkwardly, fingers just grazing his thighs. His cock bounced up, stiff and eager, just narrowly missing Aya's nose.

"Okay, Red, I want one hand on his hip... no, the other one... that's it... and the other hand on your dick, work it some. Look up at him."

Aya slowly raised his head, hair falling back from his face. He looked stunningly beautiful. But not happy. Humiliated. It was plain, humiliation and embarrassment, not on his carefully composed face, but deep in his beautiful, violet eyes. He was mortified.

The blood drained from Yohji's cock. He wanted to cry. He wanted to push Aya away, and run. He wanted to hold Aya close to him and apologise. For wanting him, for not wanting him, for being such a bastard last night, for letting things get this far, for not finding another way.

"Sorry," he stammered, stepping back from Aya, trying to keep his face neutral, probably failing. "Sorry, I..."

"That's okay," said Hiroshi. "Happens all the time."

Yohji stared blankly at him.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Hiroshi sounded horribly understanding. No doubt he'd learned long ago that getting mad at people didn't get them willing and eager. "Go sit back on the couch, stroke it some. Hey, Red, you can show him how it's done." A smirk spread across his face. "Or do it for him."

"No! I mean... that's fine. I can manage. It's just nerves. I'll be fine." Yohji couldn't stop his eyes darting to Aya; he was rising to his feet, his expression unfathomable.

Hiroshi arranged them at opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, and fussed for a bit, positioning their legs just so, tugging at the sheets, changing the lights. Yohji closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere else; with Kyoko in her apartment back in Tokyo, with anyone, anywhere... it didn't work.

He had to do this. There were lives at stake. Kids. He had to.

He opened his eyes, and saw Aya, leaning back against the arm of the couch, hand moving slowly over his erection, root to tip in slow, smooth strokes.

Yohji dared to watch, and finally, his cock started to stir.

He could do this. If Aya could to it, so could he.

Hiroshi left them to their own devices for a while, moving about and taking shots from different angles. Yohji kept his gaze fixed on Aya's cock, long and reasonably thick, but no monster, arching elegantly towards his navel. Uncut, like his, although his foreskin seemed longer, covering the head at the end of every stroke even now he was hard.

He wanted to touch it.

He stroked himself, a little faster, matching Aya's movements, still transfixed. He was hard now, very hard, and for the first time he imagined he might even be able to come like this, Aya looked so sexy and it felt so good.

Then Hiroshi was there again, rearranging them, on hands and knees this time, with his fingers threading through Aya's hair, and Aya kissing him, stealing his breath, and it felt good, so long as he didn't think, and not thinking was getting easier all the time. He just let Hiroshi direct them and move them, and somehow Aya was lying back, and Yohji was kneeling in front of him, and watching. Concentrating on the pure, physical need to satisfy the ache that was gathering in his balls.

Hiroshi's phone rang.

Yohji sat back on his heels, panting, eyes closed, startled at how close he'd been. He tried to make out what Hiroshi was saying, but he was speaking quietly, walking away, and had left the studio before Yohji could get anything.

He opened his eyes, and focused on Aya, who was lying in front of him, one hand flat on his belly, the other flung over his eyes. "Aya, are you okay?"

Aya grunted, nodded once.

Yohji shuffled back and off the couch, rummaged around in his discarded clothing until he found a cigarette. "Not as easy as it looks, huh?"

"No," said Aya, gruffly.

"Aya, I-"

The door swung open, and Hiroshi returned.

"Sorry, guys, we're going to have to call it a day. Something's come up. Can we pick it up tomorrow? Same time?"

"Okay," said Yohji, trying to keep the relief from showing on his face. He watched Hiroshi closely for any hint as to what had made him cut short their session. The man looked worried, nervous. "Anything wrong?"

"Not with you, boys." Hiroshi attempted a smile. "You did just fine. There's a future for you in this business, if you want it. A big future."

Yohji started to pull on his clothes, and feigned delight. "You really think so?"

"Oh yes, you'll see. You're naturals."

"See, love," Yohji threw a grin at Aya, so giddy with relief that it was suddenly easy to slip into the role that had eluded him all day. "I told you."

"It's early days," Aya muttered, tugging his shirt on.

"So, what is it, Hiro?" Yohji asked. "Family trouble?"

"No, just business," said Hiroshi, in a tone that strongly suggested that the matter wasn't up for discussion. He started to gather his equipment together.

"Speaking of business," said Aya, "when do we get paid?"

"There's an envelope for you on the table over there," said Hiroshi. "Thirty thousand each, like we agreed. The same again if you come back tomorrow."

"Of course we will," said Yohji, smoothly. "In fact..." he checked over his shoulder at Aya, who nodded. "We might be willing to go further, say for double the fee... that young friend of ours I mentioned yesterday, he's in trouble, gambling debts, and... between you and us, he needs money in a hurry. In fact if... he's good looking and..."

Hiroshi stopped what he was doing, but he didn't look round. "How old?"

"Thirteen," said Yohji. "Looks a bit older, but not much."

"Sorry," said Hiroshi, and went back to slotting lenses into his camera case. "Too young. I don't take them under twenty one, and to be honest, I'm surprised you'd-"

"No, no," Yohji back-pedalled. "Nothing like that. I was thinking of you know, regular modelling."

"At that age he'd need a proper agent," said Hiroshi.

"Yes, but that takes time and... I don't suppose you could put in a good word for us with someone?"

"I'm sorry." Hiroshi snapped his case closed, and gave Yohji a quick smile. He looked nervous and preoccupied. "I don't really have any contacts for that kind of market. But I can find work for you two, and if you're willing to go the extra, I can probably get you film work. They pay by the day, cash, always looking for reliable guys. We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Yohji, with a smile. "Right, Aya?"

"Yes," said Aya. "Anything, Hiroshi. We really need the money."

"I'll see what I can do, boys. Now, if you're ready to go, I really have to run."

* * * * * * *

"What d'you think?" Yohji watched as Hiroshi's Skyline GT-R shot down the highway and out of sight. "Didn't take the bait, did he?"

"No."

"Nice car."

"Yes."

"Very nice car."

Aya clicked his seatbelt on, and slipped his key into the ignition of his Porsche. It purred obediently into life. "What's your point, Kudoh?"

"Nothing. You okay?"

"Yes," said Aya, eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror before he pulled out into the traffic.

"Good. Only-"

"We need to win his trust, is all. It's not as if we've known him that long, and he's not an amateur. If it was going to be that easy, Kritiker would have found them before now."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Yohji said, mildly distracted by Aya's hand as it palmed the gear shift, cupping over the round end, fingers stroking down the shaft. "It wouldn't be the first time they'd missed the obvious."

"We'll see."

He wanted to say something about that morning, to apologise, to tell Aya he knew how difficult it had been for him, but he couldn't find the words. They couldn't talk about it, any more than they could talk about the killing. It didn't work that way.

"We need to talk," said Aya.

* * * * * * *

Yohji found himself feeling ridiculously at home among plants these days, and seeing as it was Aya who had chosen the botanical gardens as the venue for their little chat, he presumed he felt the same. The smell of leaves and pollen, of growing things, was familiar, and oddly comforting.

It was also, apart from Weiss, one of the very few things Yohji knew for certain that he and Aya had in common.

"I need to know if you can take this any further," said Aya. He brushed his thumb absently over the leaf of the palm they stood next to, gave a tiny frown of disapproval.

Yohji pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. Aya wasn't looking at him, still absorbed in the single leaf he was scrutinising. He flipped it up to survey the underside.

"I'll do what it takes," said Yohji.

"You're sure? You realise what that means?"

"Yes, Aya, I know what it means."

"Only you did have trouble, today."

Yohji winced. "Yes, thanks for reminding me. I'm not used to performing in public, that's all."

Aya let the leaf fall from his fingers.

"Neither am I," he said, in a small, hard voice.

_Oh, great, Kudoh. You insensitive prick._

"Damn, sorry, Aya, I..."

He waited as a family passed them. The gardens were quiet, and comforting, but suddenly Yohji wished very much that they were alone. This was hard enough, without having to guard his back all the time.

"It isn't... natural, for you," said Aya. "I thought it might be difficult, that's all."

"You mean, I might not be able to get it up because I'm straight," said Yohji, fairly certain there was no-one in earshot.

"More or less." Aya picked up another leaf. "It's mildew," he pronounced. "I thought so."

"You should send them some of your Fujimiya special blend palm spray," said Yohji, and, just for a moment, they shared a smile.

"It's got nothing to do with how straight I am," said Yohji. "It's how I feel about you."

The smile vanished from Aya's face. "Oh."

"No! No, I don't mean in a bad... oh shit. Aya." Yohji took a deep breath. "It wasn't because you didn't turn me on. It was because you _did_ turn me on."

Aya's fingers froze in the act of wiping the milky residue off the palm leaf; he turned to look at Yohji, clearly astonished. "What?"

"You were incredibly hot, Aya. You turned me on. I wanted you. And when I saw what it was doing to you, you looked so... you were hating it so much, I just..." Yohji cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the humidity meter that stuck out of the ground by his left foot. "You know."

"Because..."

"Because I don't treat wo... people like that." He lowered his voice as another gaggle of tourists passed them. "I respect my partners. One-sided sex isn't my idea of a good time."

Aya looked at him, uncertain, opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, shut it again. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that Yohji could barely make out the words.

"Not one-sided."

"What?" Yohji breathed.

"It wasn't one-sided. But you're... I didn't think you... It was a mission, Yohji. Just a mission."

"You mean you... I..." Yohji stumbled for the right words, this was all so different, and more than anything he really didn't want to insult Aya. "You were attracted to me?"

"Yes." Aya closed his eyes for a moment, pulled air deep into his lungs. The expression Yohji had seen so often: Aya's wanting-it-all-to-go-away expression.

"I'm sorry," said Yohji. "Fuck. What a mess."

Aya turned, wordlessly; Yohji suddenly realised he was about to walk away.

"No, wait," he grabbed Aya's arm, biceps tensing to iron under his grip. "Aya, no. I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is whether you can do what we need to do for this mission," Aya said. "Let me go, Yohji."

"Fuck the mission," said Yohji. "I don't care about the mission. I mean, I do, but-"

"It doesn't mean anything," said Aya, coldly. "It's nothing to do with anything else. We just have to make sure it doesn't get in the way. That's all." He tugged his arm easily out of Yohji's grasp.

"I don't blame you for being mad," said Yohji. "I've behaved like an asshole. I'm sorry, I meant..."

Aya just glared at him.

"Aya, I'm sorry. I... it's... I don't know, I... it's confusing, you know? This time yesterday it all seemed perfectly straightforward and now... I don't know what to think, or say, or..."

"Nothing's changed," said Aya. "It's not the first time our own feelings have had to come second. We have to do this. What they're doing can't be allowed to continue."

"Everything's changed," said Yohji. "Everything."

"Then we have a problem," said Aya.

Yohji noticed a tiny speck of green on Aya's cheek, from the leaf he'd been tending. He wanted to brush it off; the perfect excuse to touch him. Easy, then, to slide his fingers through messy crimson hair, cradle his skull and pull him close enough to kiss.

"Not necessarily," he heard himself say. His fingers, curled in a loose fist at his side, twitched.

"I know you," said Aya. "I can't risk you losing control."

Yohji smirked. He couldn't help it. "Really, Aya?"

A startled look crossed Aya's face. "What?"

Before either of them fully knew what he was doing, Yohji had taken a step towards Aya, cupped his jaw in one palm, and was kissing him. Aya tensed up, and brought his fist up to Yohji's shoulder, as if to push him away.

Yohji ignored him, and kept kissing, pushing his tongue between barely-protesting lips. Suddenly, Aya relaxed against him, his hand now flat against Yohji's chest. He returned Yohji's kiss wholeheartedly, hungrily, ten times as passionate as before.

It was like putting a spark to gunpowder: excitement and fear shot up Yohji's spine, his whole body suddenly alive, his senses in overdrive.

This was crazy. This couldn't possibly be happening. He didn't know what scared him most, Aya's response, or his own reaction to it.

"Oh, shit, Aya..." he breathed against Aya's skin, kissing his jawline, rough with faint stubble, hard and unfamiliar. "Aya, I don't know how this works, how, what, anything, but... oh, fuck, Aya..."

Aya pulled away, more determined this time. "Yohji, no," he hissed. "Not here."

Yohji reluctantly let his hands fall back to his sides and stepped back. Aya was scanning the area in case anyone had seen them; Yohji suddenly didn't care. "Then let's go back to the hotel," he said.

Aya looked at him; he was still hesitating, even now, despite the flush to his cheeks, the slight shortness of his breath.

Yohji looked back, with round, pleading eyes. "Aya? Please?"

Another flash of doubt, a nibble of his lower lip.

Then a decision. A tiny hint of a smile.

"Okay."

* * * * * * *

The drive back to the hotel was mostly silent, and just long enough that things started to feel awkward. By the time they were back in their room, Yohji wanted nothing more than to go hide on the balcony and light up, spend a couple of hours and a few bottles persuading himself it was all a big mistake. He couldn't possibly want to have sex with Aya. He was straight. Aya was his best friend. He couldn't possibly...

He couldn't stop looking at Aya's mouth, remembering what it felt like to kiss and hold him and touch him; what Aya had looked like on that couch, spread out in front of him, pleasuring himself.

Yohji wanted him so badly he ached with it. He wanted to touch and suck and lick and other things that he was pretty sure he couldn't even imagine.

But he had no idea where to start.

As it happened, it didn't matter. They hadn't got further than looking awkwardly at each other before the phone rang. Aya answered it so fast Yohji barely registered what it was, apparently welcoming the distraction just as much as he did.

Yohji took the opportunity to wander out onto the balcony and light up. He sucked smoke gratefully into his lungs, and leaned against the cold concrete of the hotel exterior.

"That was reception," Aya said. "Someone here to see you."

"Me? Who?"

"Didn't say," said Aya. "Just asked for you."

"Okay. I'll go down and deal with it, then I'll be right back. Um."

"Take your time," said Aya, with an uneasy shrug.

"Right." Their eyes met, and for a minute Yohji thought Aya was about to say something else, but he turned away, and disappeared back inside.

Yohji waited a moment before he followed, taking a last few drags on his cigarette, and wondered who on earth could have turned up, wanting to talk to him, with such incredibly bad timing. Or possibly good timing, considering how nervous he felt.

As it turned out, it was Kyoko.

"Oh Yohji! Thank goodness you're here!"

She flung her arms around his neck, and he couldn't help but hold her there, one arm around her waist, breathing in the sweet, non-strawberry scent of her hair.

"Yohji, I missed you so much..."

"Hey, I've only been gone a week."

She looked at him with big, brown eyes, completely adorable. "Did you think of me?"

"Every day, baby. Look, this is great, but what brought you all the way out here?"

Her eyes turned from sultry to serious in a blink. "I'm in trouble, Yohji." There was the start of tears. "I don't know what to do, I really need your help." She sniffed loudly. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't cry..."

"Shh, sweetheart, it'll be alright. Let's go get a drink, you can tell me all about it."

She nodded, and followed Yohji meekly through to the bar, where she waited patiently while he got the drinks, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Yohji hadn't drunk spirits in the middle of the afternoon for a long time, but the first shot hardly touched the sides on the way down. He felt himself relax for the first time that day as the alcohol settled inside him, warm and familiar. He took his second shot, and hers, over to the table she'd chosen, lit a cigarette and smiled at her.

"Okay. What's wrong, sweetheart?"

She snaked her hand along the polished surface of the table, and stroked his knuckles with neatly-manicured fingertips. "I'm in trouble," she said.

"What kind of trouble?" asked Yohji, doing a few mental calculations in his head and hoping he hadn't been even more drunk and stupid than usual.

"I promised I'd find a model for this client, and the guy who promised he'd do it has let me down at the last minute... It's a really important account, and the shoot's tomorrow, here, in Osaka. I don't know what to do, Yohji, there's so much riding on it, and I promised this guy..."

Yohji frowned. "It's not for you to worry about," he said. "Since when was it up to you to find models?"

Kyoko ran her little pink tongue over her lips, and her eyes filled with tears again. "It's not strictly... for the agency," she said. "I've been doing a bit of work on the side, to help pay the bills - that apartment's so expensive - it's all above board, I mean, I do find the models and set everything up, but..."

"You pocket the fee as well," Yohji finished. He kept the reassuring smile fixed on his face, and watched her carefully.

"Yes. I know it's not really right, but I need the money so bad... Do you think I'm a bad person, Yohji?"

"Of course not," said Yohji, smoothly. "It's like perks. Everyone takes advantage of situations from time to time. So, let me get this straight. You promised this client you'd have a model for them, but the model you were going to use has run out on you?"

"Yes. That's right."

"And you want me to take their place?"

There was still a thread of hope, after all, that Yohji hadn't been quite so wrong about Kyoko.

"Well, no. I need someone... younger."

Yohji flicked ash into the ashtray, smoothing the edges of his cigarette along the glass, sculpting the lit end into a point. Wrong, after all. Again. He felt jaded, older than his years, weary of being lied to and deceived. Kyoko transformed in front of him in an instant, from a sweet, sexy young girl who was almost in love with him, to yet another traitorous bitch.

"How much younger?"

"Um... fourteen?"

"No problem, sweetheart. There's a friend of mine who's just what you're looking for. Let me call him. It'll be fine, I promise."

She filled her eyes with hope for him, and smiled.

"Oh, Yohji! I can't thank you enough!"

"Don't worry about it. It'll all be fine. Just let me make that call."

He fished his phone out of his pocket, and flipped it open.

Her finger traced little lines from his knuckles to his wrist.

"Then can we go upstairs? And I'll thank you properly?"

Yohji grinned apologetically. "Sorry, sweetheart. I've got some business to take care of. But I'll meet you tomorrow, with my friend, okay? And tomorrow night I'll take you out to celebrate. Anywhere you like."

She looked genuinely disappointed. Perhaps the Kudoh magic really had worked on her, after all, at least a little bit.

"Alright. I do have to set things up for tomorrow."

Yohji pressed the speed-dial on his phone; Omi answered almost immediately.

"Omi? Are you doing anything tomorrow? Only I have a proposition you might be interested in..."

* * * * * * *

"You think she's working for the target?"

Yohji shook his head, and slumped down on his bed. "No. I think she _is_ the target."

"Why? All she did was ask you for a favour. She might not know..."

"Oh, she knows," said Yohji. "She's arranging the meeting with Omi herself, she did her damndest to make sure I didn't know where or when. It's in the middle of fucking nowhere. Besides... she's done this too many times before. I can tell. She's just like... she's... I could just tell."

"That won't be good enough for Kritiker," said Aya. But Yohji noticed that he didn't exactly say it wasn't good enough for him.

"No. Omi's ready for the set up tomorrow, he sent me back the rendezvous details, and he's emailing the mission plans tonight. All Kritiker-approved. All we have to do is turn up at the place and wait for his signal."

"Right. Good."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Yohji. You seemed to like her."

"Yeah. Right. Should've known, eh? I never learn."

Aya sat down on the bed next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Yohji tried to remember if he'd ever done that before. It felt new, strange, but he probably had. After a hard mission, maybe, or when things were really bad after Neu. He didn't remember.

It felt good.

"Maybe you should spend the night with her," said Aya. "Won't she think it odd if you don't?"

He didn't sound particularly reluctant about the idea. But then, why should he?

"I just said I was busy. Said I'd take her out tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Besides, I thought we... I kinda..."

"The mission comes first, Yohji."

Aya's hand dropped from his shoulder, and Yohji buried his face in his hands. What a mess. What a fucking _mess_.

"Thanks for reminding me."

"I don't know where Hiroshi fits in," said Aya, oblivious as ever. "Unless he's the client she's working for."

"Could be. I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

"Is the rendezvous before..."

"Yes. With a bit of luck you'll be spared the ordeal of having sex with me on camera."

Aya didn't say anything.

"Fucking women," said Yohji. "Is there any of that wine left?"

"You drank it all last night."

"Fuck."

"It wouldn't help, anyway. You'll only end up feeling worse in the morning and we've-"

"-got a mission in the morning. Yes, I know. Give me a break, eh, Aya? I'm suffering from wounded pride here."

Aya snorted.

Then Aya looked at him, disapproval all over his face, and something... else in his eyes.

"Aya...?"

Aya pushed him down on the bed, and kissed him. On the lips first, hard, then his throat, his jaw.

"Just forget about the fucking women for once, Kudoh," he said, pushing the jacket roughly off Yohji's shoulders and making short work of his shirt buttons. "Just for once."

It took Yohji little more than a moment to get over the surprise and reciprocate. He didn't care anymore. What did it matter that Aya was a man? He wasn't going to lie and betray him. He was one of only three people in the whole world whom Yohji trusted, and if he was completely honest, Yohji probably felt he trusted Aya most of all. It felt good. Aya felt good.

What was so special about women, anyway?

"Aya... you'll have to show me," he choked out. "I don't know what to do."

"You'll be alright," said Aya, dipping his head to nudge Yohji's nipple with his nose. His tongue darted out to lick it, and Yohji yelped and wriggled.

"Hey! I'm ticklish!" he protested.

"You'll get used to it," said Aya, gruffly, and licked it again.

It didn't tickle so much the second time.

By the third time, it just felt good.

Yohji realised he was trembling. Aya was undressing him, not gently but not really roughly either, just efficiently. In a desperate need to regain some kind of control, Yohji pushed him away and took over the job himself. By the time he'd finished struggling with his socks, Aya was naked too.

For the first time in many years, Yohji wanted to hide under the covers and turn the light off. Then he saw Aya crawling up the bed towards him on all fours, like a hunting cat.

"Aya..." His voice came out as a kind of gruff squeak.

"It's okay," said Aya. He reached out and brushed Yohji's hair back from his face, and ordinary enough gesture, but from Aya, who rarely touched anyone, it felt particularly intimate. "We don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

"That won't leave much," said Yohji. "But I can cope with a bit of uncomfortable."

A look of concern flashed across Aya's face; he drew back his hand. "Are you sure?" he said. "You really want to do this?"

Yohji couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked him that. If they ever had. It was usually his line. He smiled.

"Yes. Are you?"

Aya nibbled his lower lip a little; for one awful moment Yohji thought he was about to change his mind.

"Yes," said Aya. "I have done for a while, actually."

Yohji started to feel better.

"You have?"

"I never thought it would happen," said Aya. "But... yes."

Yohji took hold of one of Aya's eartails, and tugged him down for a kiss. He still felt nervous as hell, but it made a difference that Aya really wanted him. Not just for the mission, or on a whim. Really wanted him. He wondered vaguely just how long Aya had felt this way, but questions could wait for now. Aya's mouth was soft and warm, Aya's tongue was flicking against his, and Yohji was trembling more than ever.

He let his hand roam down Aya's back, following the ridges and hollows of his spine, settling in the dip just above his ass for a second before venturing lower. His belly fluttered as he skimmed over the soft curve of Aya's butt, different and exciting, and then suddenly he was aware of Aya's fingers trailing down his side, pausing for a moment at his hip, and then...

_Oh fuck. Oh fuckohfuckohfuck._

Yohji gasped as Aya's fingers curled around his aching cock, not softly or gently like his past lovers, but firmly. Confidently. Yohji wondered whether it was because he was a swordsman, or just because he was a man; either way it felt so good he could do nothing but close his eyes and arch into Aya's grip.

Aya pumped him a few times, kissing him with the same rhythm, thrusting his tongue into Yohji's mouth in time. Yohji's shaking hand crept round to find Aya's erection, slowly, grazing over his belly, with a little jump of surprise when he touched it for the first time. The skin was so silky, so warm, so hard; all at once the same as Yohji's own cock and yet completely different. Not knowing what else to do, Yohji held it the way he liked to hold his own, circling finger and thumb just underneath the head, trailing the rest of his fingers down the length of it, and started to stroke.

Aya gave what sounded like an appreciative little grunt, and Yohji relaxed a little.

"You like that?" he whispered.

Aya nodded, a tiny smile appearing on his face. "You?"

"Oh yeah." Yohji grinned back.

Aya flicked out his tongue, swiping wetly across Yohji's lower lip. "I want to taste you," he said. "Is that okay?"

It took Yohji a minute to work out what he meant, and by then Aya had shimmied halfway down his body, painting a wet trail down his chest, pausing to dip into his navel, and then...

Yohji hissed out his breath, eyes fluttering shut as Aya took him in his mouth for the first time. It felt incredible, just warm wet at first, then the firm wrap of careful lips and perfect, perfect suction. There was no reluctance, no sense that this was a gift, or a sacrifice. Aya suckled on Yohji's cock like it was the best thing he'd ever had in his mouth, like he wanted to do it forever. He paused to run the tip of his tongue over the ridges and veins, teased the leaking slit at the tip, then engulfed him again, even better than before because now Yohji knew that he wanted it. Badly.

He was still holding Aya's cock in his hand, although he'd long since forgotten to do anything with it. He opened his eyes and dared to enjoy looking at it: it was maybe longer than his own, but thinner, with an elegant curve towards Aya's belly that somehow suited him.

He wriggled onto his side, pushing Aya gently down and on to his, so they matched, mouth to cock, and slowly, hesitantly, he flicked his tongue out to taste.

Aya's skin was warm, and slightly salty; he smelt of soap and musk. Yohji nuzzled his cock with his nose, heart thudding in his chest. He'd expected this to be repellent, at least at first, but at last it was dawning on him that he _wanted_ this. He wasn't doing it as some kind of generous gesture, or to pay Aya back for the pleasure he was giving him. He wanted it. He wanted to explore every inch of Aya's body with fingers and tongue, to love him, claim him, feel him.

He nibbled very gently on Aya's petal-soft foreskin, used his tongue to push it back. With one hand wrapped around the root of Aya's cock, the other on his thigh, holding him still, he slowly took it into his mouth. He felt rather than heard Aya's groan of approval, a deep hum against his own aching sex; he kept going, feeding it in little by little, breathing hard through his nose, until the head of Aya's cock touched the back of his throat. Aya seemed content with that, not wanting to go any further; being kind, probably. Yohji paused, adjusting to his first ever mouthful of cock, revelling in it, cushioning it on his tongue, gripping the root tightly as he started to suck.

Soon he was sliding it in and out of his mouth, pausing from time to time to wash his tongue over the head. He was astounded at how good it tasted, and so absorbed in his task that the intensity of feelings Aya was bringing to a peak in his own body took him by surprise. He was thrusting into Aya's mouth - when did he start doing that? - and he could feel his balls drawing up tight, aching with imminent release. He pulled back from Aya's cock to warn him, and was suddenly, intimately aware of Aya's finger, stroking smoothly down the crack of his ass, until it reached it's goal and started to circle; Yohji held his breath, although he couldn't stop himself from thrusting, and then, very, very slowly, Aya's finger started to slip inside.

Yohji froze, rigid, but Aya simply took over, fucking Yohji with his mouth and throat as his finger snaked further and further in, twisting and rubbing, as if he were looking for-

Yohji came with a yell that echoed loudly around the bare hotel walls, spurting first down Aya's throat, and then onto the soft cushion of his tongue; the pleasure coming from new, unfamiliar places as well as the throbbing pulse of his cock. It didn't stop; he seemed to be coming endlessly, spurts finally giving way to dribbles. Aya's hand crept down to his own cock, but Yohji mustered the awareness to brush it away and take it in his mouth again, sucking feverishly through the last waves of his orgasm. His mind cleared enough for him to wonder what it would taste like, and to hope it wouldn't be too bad. He ventured his fingers between Aya's thighs and beneath his balls to stroke and tickle, rewarded instantly with a groan and a flex of Aya's hips. He was aware of his own cock, softening now, still in Aya's mouth, being licked clean, and that thought alone might have got him hard again but for a sudden change in Aya's rhythm that warned him he was about to come.

Aya tried to pull back, tugging gently on Yohji's hair, but Yohji wasn't having it. He didn't care what it tasted like, he'd swallow it down, because Aya had done it for him, and besides, he deserved it. As it happened, it didn't taste too bad at all; a little slippery, like oysters, but sweeter and creamier than Yohji had expected.

He continued to suck gently until he was certain Aya had finished, then let his softening cock slip out of his mouth, and swallowed.

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Delirious, breathless, and exhausted.

"Here."

Aya was kneeling by him, offering him a bottle of water. He had the hugest grin on his face that Yohji had ever seen. On Aya, at any rate.

He reached out and took the bottle, poured cool water gratefully into his mouth.

"You don't have to look so smug," said Aya.

Yohji swallowed, and grinned right back at him. "I fucking do," he said. "That was... amazing. Fucking... amazing."

Aya's grin melted into a smile.

"Yes," he said, quietly.

Yohji took another swig of water, and wondered suddenly whether Aya had given it to him thinking he might want to rinse the flavour of him away.

"You taste good," he said, eager to put Aya right on that, just in case.

"Thank you," said Aya. "So do you."

Yohji sighed, and reached out to take Aya's hand. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole before," he said.

"That's okay," said Aya, wryly. "I'm used to it."

Yohji gave him a reproachful look. "I really am sorry. I was confused."

"I understand. It's not an easy thing to come to terms with."

Yohji pulled Aya's hand to his mouth, and kissed the palm. "You really wanted this for a while?"

"Yes." Aya watched Yohji kissing his hand, curious, as if it was someone else's.

"Since when?"

Aya's eyes narrowed a little. "Why? You need your ego inflating some?"

"No, just wondering," said Yohji, although he had to admit that it was a flattering thought that Aya had been secretly lusting after him for a while.

"Since you first climbed through your window and found me in your bed."

That was a little longer than Yohji had expected.

"What?"

Aya shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be attracted to someone for more than two years and do absolutely nothing about it.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why would I? There were other things to worry about, I didn't want to get involved with anyone. And then... it seemed pretty obvious you thought you were straight. Besides, I'd got to know you by then."

"Oh, so once you knew me, the gloss went off?"

"It just seemed foolish to risk the team and... things. I didn't exactly cry myself to sleep over you, Kudoh. Don't get ideas."

Yohji grinned. "You sure? Not even a single tear?"

"I thought you were done being an asshole," said Aya.

"So what, you didn't think I'd go for it?"

"No. You were so absolutely sure you were straight. I wasn't about to tell you otherwise."

"You knew?"

"I wondered."

"But it was only yesterday..." Yohji's voice tailed off as memories started to come back, not things he'd forgotten, exactly, but certainly things he'd seen in a different light. The vision of Aya, curled up in his favourite armchair, reading a book, his sweater riding up just a little to expose a tempting bit of flesh. A long, drunken conversations a couple of months ago, when Yohji dimly recalled informing Aya that he was really attractive and, honestly, he could have any woman he wanted. A flash of jealousy when Manx had sat next to Aya at a mission briefing, her stockinged thigh brushing close against his. At the time he'd thought he'd been jealous of Aya, but...

"You hungry?" said Aya. "I was thinking room service again, unless you want to go out?"

"Room service is fine. Whatever you want. I could use a shower, and..." his eyes darted to the balcony. Yohji wasn't used to being deprived of his post coital cigarette.

"Go on, then," said Aya, disapprovingly.

By the time they'd both showered, dressed and eaten, it was almost as if nothing had happened. The mission plans had come through; they went over them with Omi by telephone, Aya insisting as usual on attention to the finest detail.

It was late, and Yohji was tired by the time they'd finished. He watched Aya carefully put away the maps and plans they'd been working from.

"I think I'm gonna turn in," he said. "Okay?"

"I have to send Omi the report for today," said Aya. "You go ahead."

Yohji hesitated for a moment, not sure whether he should say anything. It had all seemed so clear, earlier, it had felt so right, and now...

He got ready for bed, sneaking the odd look at Aya, who clicked away on the laptop, peering rather fetchingly over the top of his reading glasses. And ignoring Yohji completely.

He got into bed, determined to stay awake and drag Aya in with him as soon as he'd finished.

And promptly fell asleep.

* * * * * * * *

He woke up some hours later. The room was still and quiet, dark; he could hear Aya's regular, even breathing from the other bed.

Yohji gradually gathered his wits enough to think.

What was he supposed to do now?

He hadn't really given a thought to what would happen afterwards. He'd been so shocked by the idea that he wanted Aya at all that he hadn't even considered exactly what it meant. Was it just a one off? To see what it felt like? Only, that didn't seem possible, because it had been so damn good...

So were they fuckbuddies now? Would they turn to each other in moments of stress, or just when they were horny and there was nowhere else to turn? Hard as he tried, Yohji couldn't imagine that, either. He didn't just want Aya to get his rocks off in new and exciting ways. Although it had been undeniably new and unbelievably exciting.

He wanted to be with him.

He wanted to be with him now, not stranded alone in this stupid single bed. He wanted to wrap his arms around Aya and kiss him, he wanted to feel Aya touch him again. He wanted to wake up in the morning to the smell of strawberries, spooned around that perfect butt.

Slowly, quietly, Yohji pushed back the covers, and got out of bed. He kicked off his boxers and padded almost silently over to Aya's bed.

He was sleeping on his side, facing away from Yohji, one hand curled up by his face. He looked incredibly peaceful.

As stealthily as he could, Yohji crept into bed beside him. It was hard to balance on the tiny strip of mattress Aya wasn't occupying, but with one arm around Aya's middle, and a lot of concentration, Yohji managed it. It was worth it, to be able to cuddle into Aya's back, and press his rapidly-hardening cock against the crack of his ass.

"Yohji?" Aya yawned, turned his head and blinked.

"I was lonely," Yohji whined. "Move over?"

Aya grunted, and shuffled a little further over to make room. "Bed's too small."

"We'll manage," said Yohji.

Aya wriggled onto his back, pulling Yohji close into his side, and kissed his hair. "You fell asleep," he said.

"Sorry, babe," said Yohji, his heart racing. "Tired, I guess. You work me too hard."

"Oh, really, Kudoh?"

"Yes," said Yohji. "Besides, I wasn't sure you still wanted me."

"Oh. I see."

"Do you? Want me? Again?"

Aya simply took Yohji's hand and guided it down to his groin; he was hard, harder than hard, and his cock gave a little twitch when Yohji wrapped his fingers around it.

Yohji darted out his tongue to flick at Aya's nipple, gratified that Aya flinched just a little. His own cock was hardening rapidly; he rocked it gently against Aya's thigh, enjoyed the satisfying little grunt that Aya made at the feel of it.

A sad thought passed through his mind: that he could have had this two or more years ago, and didn't. How long had he been denying his feelings for Aya? Not just the attraction that was spreading fire down his spine, but the other, deeper feelings, that gave him odd ideas about suggesting that they should take a vacation together, and an odd desire to know what Aya's favourite painting was. Maybe they could go to Florence, or Paris, or...

He let the thoughts go, sinking into a haze of lust and pleasure as Aya thrust gently into his hand, and he rubbed against the taut muscle of Aya's thigh, teasing the stiff little nipple with the tip of his tongue. Then, just as Yohji started to get a feel for his rhythm, Aya stopped him.

"Not yet," he murmured, and pulled Yohji on top of him, tugging him down to kiss, smoothing his hands over his back to settle on his ass. Their erections rubbed together, and Yohji revelled in the unfamiliar feeling, the press of Aya's silky hardness against his own. Aya reached between their bodies and pulled their cocks tight together, circling them best as he could with one hand. The other was working its way slowly between Yohji's buttocks, stroking, softer than soft, until it reached his asshole. Aya's finger fluttered there, moving in tiny circles, teasing, tickling, while Yohji pushed back against it, curious to have it inside again, to feel that unique, amazing sensation that Aya had somehow pulled out of him.

But Aya wasn't in any hurry, just kept tickling, and stroking them both, sucking gently on the tip of Yohji's tongue.

Yohji wondered vaguely whether he should reciprocate, not sure what the protocol was, what was expected of him. Not that he could reach Aya's butt from this position anyway, but still... besides, he didn't really know what he was trying to do. He'd fingered himself once or twice, but it always felt awkward and he could never reach quite like he wanted to...

"Relax," Aya whispered. "You're tensing up. Just relax."

Yohji took that as a sign he should stop worrying, and just let Aya do whatever he wanted to do.

"Is that okay?" Aya checked, pressing a little more firmly with his finger.

"Yes," breathed Yohji. "Oh, fuck, yes..."

Then the pressure was gone, and Yohji was left panting while Aya twisted towards the nightstand.

"Aya?"

"Just a minute." Aya fidgeted around with something. "This'll make it better."

The next time Yohji felt Aya's touch, his finger was wet, and faintly cold. It slipped easily inside him, squirming deeper and deeper, and then Yohji felt the same exquisite sensation as before, a pleasure so intense it was almost, but not quite painful.

"You like that?" purred Aya, twisting and rubbing him some more.

"There aren't words for how good that is," said Yohji. "I never thought..."

"You never did this yourself?"

"No. Never. I didn't... oh, fuck, Aya, that's so good..."

His hand joined Aya's between them; his cock was leaking more than it ever had. He spread the wetness over both of them, between them, and started to stroke.

However good his cock felt, though, it was the feelings deep inside his ass that were taking him over. At some point Aya had slipped him another finger, adding a sense of being stretched to the other, exquisite sensations.

He started to imagine what it might feel like to have more than just a finger or two inside him.

"Aya..." he whispered. "Aya, fuck me. Please?"

Aya hesitated, stilled for a moment. "We don't have to. Not yet." His voice was a little ragged, his breathing uneven. His cock had jerked in Yohji's hand when Yohji had asked to be fucked.

"I want to, Aya." Yohji flicked his tongue against Aya's earring, pulled on it gently with his teeth. "Please fuck me, Aya."

"You don't know what you're asking for," said Aya, down to earth as ever. "It'll hurt. You're not ready."

"So, make me ready, Aya." Yohji kissed along Aya's jawline to his chin. "Or don't you want to fuck me?"

Again, Aya's cock jerked in Yohji's hand.

"See? Your dick knows what it wants. Listen to your dick, Aya. Fuck me."

Aya groaned, and fumbled for the lube. "I'll be careful," he promised. "I'll stop if it hurts."

"If you say so." Yohji gave his cock a little squeeze.

"It's best if you stay on top," Aya explained, still working Yohji's ass with his fingers, stretching and stroking and wetting. "Then you can stop anytime."

"Okay." Yohji nipped at Aya's tongue as it retreated back into his mouth. "Aren't I ready yet?"

"You'll do," said Aya, gruffly, and carefully withdrew his fingers.

The next thing Yohji knew, Aya was holding his cock ready at his asshole, gripping it with one hand around the root.

It was a fuck of a lot bigger than a couple of fingers.

"Take it as slow as you like," Aya whispered. "Stop when it hurts."

Not if, Yohji noted, with more than a little trepidation. When. He took a deep breath and eased himself down, eyes shut tight, and it was okay at first; so long as he made a conscious effort to relax it seemed to be fine, and then something clenched inside him and, oh fuck, it _hurt_. He stopped, breathing through the pain.

"Open your eyes, Yohji. Look at me. Back off just a little. It's okay. Just wait a minute." He reached up and threaded long fingers through Yohji's hair, kind and soothing.

Yohji's eyes stuttered open and he looked down at Aya, all red hair and violet eyes, high cheekbones and soft, wet mouth. He waited.

Finally his body seemed to accept the inevitable, the pain went and something gave. The head of Aya's cock popped inside him, deep inside him, thicker and bigger and better than he could possibly have imagined. He let out his breath on a long sigh of relief, and gave Aya a little smile.

Aya looked deep into his eyes, and slowly, quietly encouraged Yohji as he impaled himself, inch by inch, on Aya's erection.

By the time he'd taken all of it, right down to the root, he was panting, caught halfway between pleasure and discomfort. His cock had softened, and for a moment he thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, that perhaps it had been too soon; then Aya shifted him back a little, settling himself inside him, and it suddenly felt a whole lot better.

Aya held his hips and started, very slowly, to fuck him.

By the third languorous stroke Yohji's cock was hard again; Aya curled his fingers around it and moved his fist in time with his thrusts, slower than slow, deeper than deep. After a while, Yohji started to move with him, partly to persuade him to pick up the pace, because all of a sudden his balls were aching and his cock was dripping and he wanted, more than anything, to come. But Aya wouldn't let him, holding off again and again, pausing with his cock buried deep inside Yohji's body, thick and hard and hot.

Yohji prided himself on his self-control in bed, but he had to admit he was no match for Aya. Of course, he should have guessed.

"Fuck, Aya, that feels so good."

Aya grunted, and his hand tightened around Yohji's cock, just a little.

"Please let me come, Aya. It feels so good. Please let me come."

"Not yet," said Aya, stubbornly, but he was biting his lower lip, and Yohji didn't miss the little shudder of pleasure that had rushed through him when Yohji spoke.

"Please?" he whined, licking a line from Aya's shoulder to his ear. "Let me move? Let me come? Please..."

Aya tried to silence him with a kiss, but Yohji just moaned happily into Aya's mouth, and kissed him back, all tongue and heat and pressure. Finally Aya lost control, and let Yohji ride him harder and deeper than ever, his arms wrapped around Yohji's neck, Yohji's cock forgotten for now. He arched his back as he came, the moment beautiful and unmistakable, not just from the flood of warmth Yohji could feel inside his body, but the total abandon on Aya's face. He looked almost surprised, eyes wide and mouth open, and then bliss washed over him and he surrendered himself to wave after wave of pleasure, a smile gradually spreading over his face.

Yohji snuck his hand down to his own cock and stroked himself quickly. He became dimly aware of Aya watching him, still deep inside, hands on Yohji's hips, holding him still until the very moment Yohji came. He pulled out then, in a rush, rendering Yohji helpless with pleasure, striping Aya's pale skin with ropes of white.

He watched himself come, oblivious to anything but the sheer fucking horniness of it, his whole body shuddering with sensations he'd never felt, never even dreamed of.

He collapsed into a heap next to Aya, boneless and immediately in danger of falling off the bed. He was dimly aware of Aya pulling him closer, draping him over his chest, kissing the top of his head.

He must have passed out, or at least fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was alone in Aya's bed. He barely had time to register the fact before Aya returned, equipped with damp cloth and towel, to clean them both up. He surrendered to Aya's ministrations, too sleepy and sex-hazed to care very much.

Eventually his body woke up enough to inform him that he needed a piss. By the time he got back from the bathroom, Aya had pushed the beds together, and was plumping pillows.

With a vague smile at such an unlikely vision, Yohji grabbed Aya around the middle, and wrestled him to the bed, even dared to tickle him. For some reason Aya saw fit to indulge him, a clue, perhaps, that Yohji wasn't the only one lost in lust-induced euphoria. Although of course, Aya somehow turned the tables before Yohji realised what was happening, and he found himself pinned to the bed in moments, arms held over his head, a triumphant and grinning Aya straddling his thighs.

He had the sudden feeling that tickling wasn't all that was about to happen to him.

"We have the mission tomorrow, Aya," he said, slyly. "Don't you think we ought to get some sleep?"

"Fuck the mission," said Aya, and leaned down to kiss him.

* * * * * * *

Yohji woke the next morning with a crick in his neck and a decidedly sore ass, but with a grin returning almost immediately to his face. He was lying on his back, his head hanging off the edge of the bed, a warm body next to him, hair tickling his stomach.

He raised his head painfully: Aya was lying across the width of the bed, his head pillowed on Yohji's belly. It was all a bit of a blur, but it occurred to Yohji that it was entirely possible that Aya had fallen asleep sucking him. Or maybe he was just comfortable like that. Either was a pleasant thought.

He scooted round until he was entirely on the bed, shoved a pillow under his protesting neck, and tugged Aya up to be cuddled. Aya submitted with a small grunt of protest, settling into Yohji's side.

"Time?" murmured Aya.

Yohji ignored him, hoping maybe he'd go back to sleep. It had been so long since he'd woken up with someone. Since Neu, he hadn't felt he could trust anyone enough to actually sleep with them. It felt oddly, dangerously secure.

Aya grunted, and leaned across Yohji to flail about for his watch on the nightstand. He'd just managed to find it when his phone went off, which led to more fumbling and wriggling, and finally to Aya draped across Yohji's midriff, his fetching behind just begging to be stroked as Aya talked to Omi on the phone.

To his credit, Aya managed to conduct the phone call in damn near to his usual tone of voice. Apart from one yelp, when Yohji's fingers got a little adventurous, and that was admirably covered with a coughing fit.

It was only when Aya ended the call and turned the full force of his glare on Yohji that it occurred to him that however ticklish - downright playful, if memory served - Aya might be in bed, he was still pretty much the old Aya when it came to work.

"Sorry," said Yohji. "If you're going to flaunt your ass at me, you'll have to accept the consequences."

"Yoh-ji," growled Aya, some of the menace mediated by the fact that he was glaring at Yohji over his shoulder, his ass still warm under Yohji's hands, and his cock twitching to life against Yohji's thigh.

"Aya," said Yohji, one eyebrow raised.

"That was Omi," said Aya, firmly. "Mission."

"You sure?" Yohji ran his hand up Aya's back, stopped to massage the nape of Aya's neck, which he'd discovered last night was a sure fire way to get Aya to relax.

Sure enough, some of the intensity went out of Aya's glare, and the faintest of smiles curled his lips.

"Yes," he said, but there was regret in his voice. That would do.

"Okay. Any more on the target?"

"It's Kyoko, and two men. Ken followed her to her meeting last night."

"Hiroshi?"

"Seems not. Whatever he's up to, it's nothing to do with kidnapping."

Yohji realised he was pleased about that. It meant he could admit that he actually rather liked the man.

"I thought so," he said. "I think he's got delusions of being Hugh Heffner. I thought so when I saw his car. Flash bastard."

"We proceed according to the mission plan. Kyoko will take Omi to the rendezvous, where they'll attempt the kidnap. Then we move as agreed."

"And then we go back to Tokyo?"

"Yes. I'll go and see Hiroshi and tell him we've had second thoughts."

"Let me. It'll make more sense that way, after yesterday."

Aya wriggled round, and kissed Yohji briefly on the mouth. "Alright. If you're sure."

"Oh yeah," said Yohji, smiling up at him, winding an eartail around his finger. "I'm sure."

"Don't get any ideas, Kudoh," said Aya. "We have to get up."

Yohji smirked.

"And dressed," Aya added. "Now."

"Oh well..." Yohji sighed dramatically. "I'll cope somehow."

Apart from one particularly dangerous moment in the shower, they managed to get themselves washed and dressed and out of the hotel without Yohji molesting Aya any further, although it wasn't easy. Like a kid with a new toy, Yohji couldn't get over the sheer novelty of Aya's body, or the warmth of his response. He wanted to spend the whole day in bed, watching old movies between long, drawn out bouts of lovemaking.

But whatever else had changed, they were still Weiss.

And they had work to do.

* * * * * * *

"There's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"No, Hiroshi. I'm sorry. It's just not for us."

"If it's the money-" Hiroshi reached for his cigarettes, offered one to Yohji.

"Thanks." Yohji accepted the cigarette, and let Hiroshi light it. "No, it's not the money. Things have changed for me and Aya, that's all."

Hiroshi's keen eyes met Yohji's, a spark of recognition.

"What d'you mean, changed?"

"We're an item," said Yohji, softly, unable to stop a smile creeping onto his face.

"But I thought..."

"We put on a good show, huh?"

Hiroshi stared at him, clearly astonished. "But... I could have sworn... how the fuck do you have that much chemistry without anything happening between you? From the minute you walked in the door, you were... it 's... fuck, Yohji, how long have you worked together?"

"Couple of years."

"And in all that time of pretending, it never occured to you to give the real thing a go?"

Yohji shrugged. "I had a few things to work through."

"Love, let me give you a word of advice. When someone like Red comes into your life, you drop everything. His kind only come once in a lifetime." He blew smoke towards the ceiling. "You lucky bastard."

"Yeah," said Yohji, with a grin. "I am."

"And now you finally caught on, you want him all to yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Hiroshi. It was good of you to give us the work, but you understand?"

Hiroshi sighed. "I'd be the same way, if he were mine."

"We'd rather you didn't sell the pictures you took yesterday." Yohji pulled an envelope out of his jacket. "Here's the money you paid us so far. We didn't want you to be out of pocket."

"Oh. Thanks. It's a shame, there were some good pictures."

"Sorry. But our friend doesn't need the money any more, and we've got other work."

Hiroshi fingered the envelope thoughtfully. "Are you absolutely sure, Yohji? The two of you could make a lot of money. A lot."

_But not half as much as you'd make_, though Yohji. "We're sure. I'm sorry."

Hiroshi sighed, and tucked the envelope away. "If you ever change your mind..."

Yohji got to his feet, stubbed out his cigarette, and held out his hand. "I don't think so, Hiroshi. But thanks."

Hiroshi shook his hand and watched, a little sadly, as he left.

* * * * * * *

So easily cornered, so easily trapped.

Kyoko looked as if she'd been betrayed, just as Yohji knew she would. He'd seen that expression on too many women's faces. Unjust betrayal. As if she had a right to feel anything, after what she'd done.

In the end it was Aya who killed her. Even though, according to the mission plan and all, Yohji was the logical candidate, Yohji had no sooner got his wire ready than there was a glint of steel, and Kyoko fell. For a fleeting second, Yohji was angry, thinking that Aya was needlessly protecting him, but one look at his lover's face told him that wasn't the case.

Aya knew. Aya knew what killing Neu had done to Yohji, how easily the nightmares came back. All this time, Aya had watched him, cared for him, had grown to understand him. Things had changed. The bond between the four of them had always been strong, but this was different.

Aya knew.

Things had changed.

It was him and Aya now.

It felt good.


End file.
